Page 52 of The Best of Us

“Country,” Colin requested, and Constantine quietly obliged him, clearly willing to do anything to dodge talking about himself.

I didn’t blame him. The whole morning gave new meaning to “a lot.”

“Max McNown. Good singer. Dope song,” Colin said.

Relief washed over me as we sat there in peace for the rest of the car ride.

It wasn’t until we pulled up to a beautiful building that Colin spoke again. “Whoa, this place is sick. You live here? Let me guess, on the top floor?”

Constantine didn’t answer, and I took that as a yes to both of Colin’s questions.

Once we parked, he rounded the Maserati to open the door for me and offered his hand to help me. A girl could get used to this, which was sad since it was really only the bare minimum. But it was still rare among most guys I’d dated in the past.

Constantine pulled his hand from mine once I was on my feet and handed me my purse before ducking into the backseat.

He tossed his laptop in a messenger bag and insisted he carry all of our things for us. I knew when to pick and choose my battles, so I didn’t push back.

Constantine gestured with Colin’s duffel bag toward a golden door off the side of three other silver ones. “This elevator is only for our use.”

For us. Are we now an us?

He punched in a code without sharing the digits. Did he intend to never let us out of his sight?

As Colin had called it, we went to the top floor.

Constantine stepped forward and set his right hand on a small screen that lit up, and only then did the doors open.

“What in the rich-people-hell is that?” Colin murmured, and I noticed a slight tug at Constantine’s mouth. Was that an almost-smile? “This whole floor is yours, isn’t it?” he asked as Constantine stepped in front of the only door in sight.

He set down our bags and unlocked the door. “Maybe,” he said with his back to us before opening up. He killed the alarm, picked up our bags, and allowed us to go in first.

Colin wasted no time checking out our temporary living quarters, and I quickly followed him, worried I’d lose him in this mansion.

“Holy shit.” Colin slapped his hands together, doing a three-sixty in the living room, which was open to the kitchen area. “This place is on another level.”

Constantine left our bags in front of a hallway and joined us alongside the windows overlooking the Hudson River to the left and the city at our right.

I did a three-sixty myself, dropping my purse on the floor while keying in on the fact the man didn’t like color. Gray. Gray. More gray. A little black and white, and a splash of one red pillow to really liven up the place (noted with all the sarcasm in the world).

“So, this is how the one percent live, huh? Or is it more like the point one percent?” Colin made a beeline for the kitchen. The fridge blended in with the cabinetry, and it took Colin a moment to locate it. “What, no milk?”

Constantine removed his phone from his pocket and began typing. “I don’t drink milk.”

“That sucks.” Colin banged the fridge door shut with a little too much force.

Please don’t break anything.

He then proceeded to open every door and pantry in sight. “Zero junk food. You some health food nut?” He faced his father, a look of disgust on his face.

“Milk will be delivered later. Somesemi-unhealthy snacks as well.” Constantine returned his phone to his pocket. “Satisfied?”

Colin snapped his fingers. “Just like that? Poof. Food will magically appear.”

“I don’t do my own shopping. Someone does it for me.” Constantine shrugged as if that was a perfectly normal response.

For an apparently rich guy, according to my son’s internet search, it’d probably be abnormal if he did push a grocery cart down the aisle. And I doubt he found the price of eggs offensive.

“When was the last time you were in a grocery store?” Colin grinned.

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